rooms, he could hear a weeping voice.
It was Dahlia’s voice, calling his name.
Quickly, he went to the door. The possibility that it might be locked crossed his mind, but when he twisted the knob, it opened easily. Dahlia stood beyond the door, dressed in a thin negligee. When she saw Gilbert, her eyes went wide and she fell silent.
Her eyes were red and bloodshot.
Gilbert didn’t know what to say to her, and for a short while, he was silent, too.
“You…came,” Dahlia said.
She seemed to have mixed feelings about that. Her tone wasn’t one of simple delight.
Gilbert glanced at the door.
“Your father?” he asked, briefly.
Dahlia nodded, uncomfortably. Gilbert continued. “Please let me speak to him. This wasn’t your fault.”
“Won’t you come in?”
Dahlia took a step back, inviting Gilbert into her room. Possibly she had something to discuss with Gilbert before taking him to see her father.
Large bookshelves took up most of the wall space in Dahlia’s room. She had said she loved books, and her room reflected this. She’d mentioned that she liked mystery novels, but all the books wore covers, and the titles weren’t visible.
As Gilbert gazed at the bookshelves, he noticed a faint fragrance.
This room smells nice…
A sweet aroma hung in the air, as though Dahlia were wearing perfume, or burning incense.
“I’ll make tea.”
At a small table in the center of the room, Dahlia tilted a pot and began to pour tea.
“Oh, sure. Thank you.”
“Do you take milk?”
“That’s fine.”
“I can add a drop of brandy if you’d like.”
“No, I don’t really—”
Was it his imagination? Dahlia, who’d been crying just a moment ago, now sounded as if she were in high spirits.
That’s strange
, Gilbert thought.
However, as if erased by the sweet scent, the doubt faded in his mind. Dahlia approached, cup in hand, and held it out to him. “Here you are.”
Gilbert took it obligingly—or tried to take it. For some reason, his fingers were unsteady, and he very nearly dropped it. “I’m sorry,” he apologized.
“It’s all right,” Dahlia said shyly. “Go on.”
As Dahlia urged him to drink, Gilbert had a vague sense that something was wrong, but he didn’t know what.
He took a small sip.
Dahlia was watching him, steadily.
………
…? Something’s…funny
—
Before he knew it, all the strength had gone out of his legs. He staggered, falling to his knees on the carpet. His senses were hazy, as though he were dreaming. The cup fell to the floor, and he fell after it, but there was no pain. Strident alarm bells were ringing in his head.
However, his body wouldn’t listen to him, and even his mind was fading, disappearing beyond the mist.
“For the Great Mother—”
Dahlia’s murmur was the last thing Gilbert heard before he lost consciousness.
A short while later.
A carriage departed from the rear of the Garland mansion, bound for the center of Reveil.
The coachman was the small, elderly butler.
Inside the black carriage, Dahlia sat in one of the two facing seats.
A prone form wrapped in a white sheet lay on the other.
13
“Sooo…What next?”
Break spoke from the shadow of a tree trunk in the elm forest that surrounded the Garland mansion. Oz, who’d watched the carriage drive away down the lane from the shadow of the next trunk over, looked back at Break. His eyes seemed to ask,
What’s going on?
“Sorry. I’m coming in.”
Oz had seen Gilbert push the butler aside and force his way into the mansion after he’d been denied a meeting with Dahlia.
The sight had made him wonder if Gilbert was serious. If this was how things were, there was no place for the Anti-Socialization Plan. Break had said, “My,
my
, Gilbert-kun, how manly of you…” and seemed to be enjoying himself, but Oz couldn’t share his enthusiasm.
Now a carriage had left the mansion.
From what I saw, it didn’t look like Gil was inside, but…
He’d only caught a brief
It was Dahlia’s voice, calling his name.
Quickly, he went to the door. The possibility that it might be locked crossed his mind, but when he twisted the knob, it opened easily. Dahlia stood beyond the door, dressed in a thin negligee. When she saw Gilbert, her eyes went wide and she fell silent.
Her eyes were red and bloodshot.
Gilbert didn’t know what to say to her, and for a short while, he was silent, too.
“You…came,” Dahlia said.
She seemed to have mixed feelings about that. Her tone wasn’t one of simple delight.
Gilbert glanced at the door.
“Your father?” he asked, briefly.
Dahlia nodded, uncomfortably. Gilbert continued. “Please let me speak to him. This wasn’t your fault.”
“Won’t you come in?”
Dahlia took a step back, inviting Gilbert into her room. Possibly she had something to discuss with Gilbert before taking him to see her father.
Large bookshelves took up most of the wall space in Dahlia’s room. She had said she loved books, and her room reflected this. She’d mentioned that she liked mystery novels, but all the books wore covers, and the titles weren’t visible.
As Gilbert gazed at the bookshelves, he noticed a faint fragrance.
This room smells nice…
A sweet aroma hung in the air, as though Dahlia were wearing perfume, or burning incense.
“I’ll make tea.”
At a small table in the center of the room, Dahlia tilted a pot and began to pour tea.
“Oh, sure. Thank you.”
“Do you take milk?”
“That’s fine.”
“I can add a drop of brandy if you’d like.”
“No, I don’t really—”
Was it his imagination? Dahlia, who’d been crying just a moment ago, now sounded as if she were in high spirits.
That’s strange
, Gilbert thought.
However, as if erased by the sweet scent, the doubt faded in his mind. Dahlia approached, cup in hand, and held it out to him. “Here you are.”
Gilbert took it obligingly—or tried to take it. For some reason, his fingers were unsteady, and he very nearly dropped it. “I’m sorry,” he apologized.
“It’s all right,” Dahlia said shyly. “Go on.”
As Dahlia urged him to drink, Gilbert had a vague sense that something was wrong, but he didn’t know what.
He took a small sip.
Dahlia was watching him, steadily.
………
…? Something’s…funny
—
Before he knew it, all the strength had gone out of his legs. He staggered, falling to his knees on the carpet. His senses were hazy, as though he were dreaming. The cup fell to the floor, and he fell after it, but there was no pain. Strident alarm bells were ringing in his head.
However, his body wouldn’t listen to him, and even his mind was fading, disappearing beyond the mist.
“For the Great Mother—”
Dahlia’s murmur was the last thing Gilbert heard before he lost consciousness.
A short while later.
A carriage departed from the rear of the Garland mansion, bound for the center of Reveil.
The coachman was the small, elderly butler.
Inside the black carriage, Dahlia sat in one of the two facing seats.
A prone form wrapped in a white sheet lay on the other.
13
“Sooo…What next?”
Break spoke from the shadow of a tree trunk in the elm forest that surrounded the Garland mansion. Oz, who’d watched the carriage drive away down the lane from the shadow of the next trunk over, looked back at Break. His eyes seemed to ask,
What’s going on?
“Sorry. I’m coming in.”
Oz had seen Gilbert push the butler aside and force his way into the mansion after he’d been denied a meeting with Dahlia.
The sight had made him wonder if Gilbert was serious. If this was how things were, there was no place for the Anti-Socialization Plan. Break had said, “My,
my
, Gilbert-kun, how manly of you…” and seemed to be enjoying himself, but Oz couldn’t share his enthusiasm.
Now a carriage had left the mansion.
From what I saw, it didn’t look like Gil was inside, but…
He’d only caught a brief
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